


Kiss Your Frown Away

by stormonmyskin



Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: Angst, Fluff, I don't know I just love to torture James, James is a angst-ridden mess, M/M, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, some violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-10
Updated: 2020-05-30
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:15:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24115609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stormonmyskin/pseuds/stormonmyskin
Summary: Richard had never met anyone like James.He knew from the off that James was special. That they could have something special.He could also tell, early on, that James did not quite believe himself worthy of love.This is the story of how Richard courted James.
Relationships: James Hathaway/Original Male Character(s)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 60





	1. First Meeting

They met in a pub. Robbie was away and so James was drinking by himself when his eye was caught by a man at the bar with the loveliest face James had seen in ages.

The man obviously felt his gaze and turned. Met his eyes. James felt himself flush instantly. The man's eyes narrowed as he took in that James was sat alone at a table. He saw that the pint he cradled in his hands was almost gone. He leaned into the barman and asked for another of whatever it was. Pointed.

Then, drinks in hand, he made his way over and sat on the other seat, plonking the drinks down onto the table and pushing one slightly towards James. “I saw that you were alone for whatever reason,” he offered shyly, running a hand through his mop of brown hair and scratching at his scalp. “I thought I might keep you company for a bit. If you don’t mind? I’m here alone too.”  
James looked at him from under his eyelashes. “Thank you.” He held out a hand. “James.”  
Richard shook it solemnly. “Richard.”

Richard made himself comfortable, and took a long swallow of drink. “Ohhh, I needed that,” he groaned, stretching.  
“Tough day?” James found himself asking, pulling the drink Richard had offered him closer in wordless acceptance.  
“Long. Stressful.” Richard sat forward again. “I work for social services; I’m a child support social worker. Got a heavy caseload at the moment. Most of the families I work with are not terribly cooperative.”  
James looked impressed. “Wow.” So Richard understood child abuse and the effects it could have on a person then. Maybe Richard wouldn’t judge him if James ever got the nerve to tell him what had happened to him as a child. Wait, why was he thinking this? He’d known the man for two minutes! Get a grip, James. “I don’t know if I could do that job,” he confessed. “I work for Oxford CID, homicide department. ‘Detective Sergeant James Hathaway’,” he quoted with a bland smile. “The cases that involve the children always get to me the most.” He finished his previous drink with a last swallow, pushed it aside, and curled his hand around the full glass Richard had brought him.  
Richard nodded. “They can be tough. Fortunately the stuff I do doesn’t usually involve a murder, though; that must be really hard.” James’ mind automatically skipped back to the Zelinsky case and he shuddered.  
Richard’s eyes – a colour somewhere in between green and blue, it seemed to change whenever he moved and the light changed – studied him briefly. “Let’s not talk about work, eh?” he said quickly. He took another swig of drink and swilled his beer in his glass.  
James agreed easily. “Sounds clichéd,” he said with a small, wry smile. “But I’ve not seen you here before. What brought you in tonight?”  
Richard shrugged. “I come here sometimes. Depends where my last case of the day is, or if I’m office-based, or what. If I’m nearby, I sometimes call in after I’m done for the day. I was nearby tonight.” He tipped his glass towards James. “Could say the same of you.”  
“Usually I go to the pub with my boss, after work,” James told him. “He is my boss, but we’re good friends; we have a good relationship outside of work. He used to come here with his late wife, though, so we tend to avoid this place.”  
“And you’re not with him tonight?”  
“He’s away this week, visiting his daughter who lives in Manchester. She’s just had another baby.”  
“Aww,” Richard smiled, his eyes going crinkly in a way that suffused James with warmth.  
“That explains me; why are you alone?” James asked, surprising himself with his boldness. He met and held Richard’s eyes, waiting for him to answer.  
Richard shrugged. “Came straight from work. I’m not usually the best company after a tough day; I wouldn’t want to inflict that on any of my friends. But then I saw you sitting there and I didn’t want you to be on your own and then I realised that I didn’t want to be on my own either.”  
James offered a small smile in response. “I’m glad. I didn’t really want to be on my own. It was either drink here alone or drink in my flat alone. This option seemed more socially acceptable, and it’s closer to work than my flat.”

The conversation flowed easily for a bit, as they chatted about their favourite beers and the merits and cons of various pubs in Oxford. Eventually, though, James couldn’t ignore the emptiness clawing at his stomach. He’d been taken off the rotation, with Robbie away, and so had been put to work on cold cases. Without Robbie to chivvy him home at the end of each day, he’d been staying late and not eating properly. He realised with a jolt that he hadn’t eaten at all that day.  
He looked sheepishly at Richard. “I’m…actually a bit hungry. Do you fancy getting something to eat?”  
Richard caught the anxious undertone to James’ voice. James was nervous, worried about Richard’s reaction. What on earth was a man as sweet as James doing alone in the pub of an evening? Did he not have friends? Family? He smiled, and nodded, pushing up from the table. “I’ll get us menus.”

They both studied the menus briefly, then James volunteered to go and place the order. “I have a confession to make,” he said quietly. “I…need to go outside to relieve my craving.” He patted his chest, where his tobacco and cigarette papers were stored safely in his inside jacket pocket.  
Richard dipped his head in agreement. “I don’t, but go ahead. I’ll save the table.”  
James felt relief swelling in his chest. He’d expected open disapproval, but if Richard had disapproved, he’d hidden it well. “I’ll get the next round in when I get back,” James told him anyway, to try and make up for his weakness, before he was finally driven out into the cold by his itching fingers.

Back inside, James had to fight not to wolf his food down. He was, his stomach had decided, absolutely starving, and the chicken madras with piles of rice, poppadoms and naan was one of the best things he’d ever tasted, he was sure.  
Richard had gone for the lasagne with a side of chips, and when he declared himself too full to finish his chips, James polished them off for him. Richard stifled a chuckle.  
James blinked at him. “What?” He fought to stop his defences coming up.  
“Are you one of those annoying people that can eat as much as they want and not put on a pound?”  
James flushed. “Not at all. I…hadn’t eaten yet today.” A frown appeared on Richard’s face. James nearly groaned. “Don’t. My boss is always getting on at me for it. It’s been a busy, stressful day. I didn’t have time.”  
Richard gazed at him, eyes narrowed slightly. Seems the type to not take care of himself properly, he decided. James, however, uncomfortable, looked away, flushing. Richard dropped it. “Another drink?” he asked. “Or do you have to go?”  
James looked at him sideways. Was that Richard’s way of saying he wanted to leave? Richard caught his glance, and looked at his watch. “S’Friday night,” he said. “I could take another drink. It’s not that late.”  
James allowed a smile to brighten his lips. “Go on, then.”

After that drink, they had decided to call it a night – both had been up early and had long days, and it was getting more and more difficult to smother the yawns now their bellies were comfortably full.  
Richard asked for James’ phone number, because he wanted it, but he didn’t think James would have the nerve to ask, and the charmed relief on the other man’s face was flattering.  
“I can’t say a day for definite,” James told him apologetically. “Because I never know when we might get a case and I’ll have to work late. But we can pencil something in if you’d like? I don’t usually do Fridays I’m afraid; I usually have plans on Fridays. But, barring disaster, or a case, any other day should be fine.”  
“No problem. Shall we pencil in next Thursday and see how we go?”  
Richard, for his part, had a similar kind of unpredictable work schedule, and Fridays were usually a no-go day for him, too, as frequently he was so exhausted that he would just go home and fall into bed.

All arranged, the two men parted with an easy wave and smile. Richard, stomach comfortably full and path eased by alcohol, fell asleep quickly that night, wearied by the long week at work. For James, the working week and the alcohol had the opposite effect, and, with that night’s chance meeting setting the cogs turning in his brain, sleep was a long time finding him that night.


	2. A Table by the Fire

The following Wednesday, Richard sent James a text to check he was still on for the next day.

HI JAMES. RICHARD HERE, FROM THE PUB. JUST CHECKING YOU’RE STILL ON FOR TOMORROW NIGHT? CHEERS.

James had texted back ten minutes later.

HI RICHARD. SORRY I’VE NOT BEEN IN TOUCH. HAD A CASE ON. STILL GOOD FOR TOMORROW IF YOU ARE. JAMES.

Then, on the Thursday, Richard arrived in the pub ten minutes early, feeling stupidly jittery with nerves, like a teenager.

James was battling his way through his boss’ questions about why he was so antsy to leave work. He had arranged to meet Richard at 7pm, and had been working like a thing possessed all day to get the reports finished and the paperwork done to wrap the case up and make it acceptable for him to leave work at his prescribed time; something he rarely did.  
“Oh,” Robbie blinked at James, who, at 5.45pm, was packing up ready to leave. “You off?”  
James began hurrying. He still had to deliver some reports to Innocent and leave instructions for the constables for the next morning. “Yeah,” he said distractedly.  
Robbie observed James rushing. When he returned from Innocent’s office, looking increasingly harassed, he frowned. “What’s the rush?”  
James spun round snappily. “I do have plans sometimes, you know,” he bit out. “And I’m going to be late. I still have to sort out the planner for the constables.” He glanced up at Robbie a bit guiltily. “Sir.”  
Robbie smiled at him. “I’ll sort the stuff for the DCs,” he offered.  
James blinked at him. “Sir?”  
“You’re clearly desperate to get away on time; just give me a brief overview of what you need them to do in the morning and I’ll sort it.”  
James looked stunned. “W-would you, sir?”  
“Aye,” Robbie said kindly. “Was a sergeant for enough years, I know what I’m doing.” He smiled as James began shuffling papers and packing his case. “Where are you meeting?”  
“What?” James asked, frowning.  
“Your date. Where are you going?”  
“Who says I’m going on a date?”  
“Well,” Robbie said. “You’re rushing to leave work for a meeting which can start no earlier than 6.30pm, I’d say, so that rules out financial or medical appointments, and leaves…hospital visiting hours or a date. You don’t seem terribly distressed by the prospect of the meeting, so you can’t be visiting someone in hospital. But you _do_ seem nervous. So it’s a date.” He smiled at the look on James’ face. “I’ve not been a detective for more years than you’ve been alive for nothing, bonny lad,” he chuckled.  
James just stared at him for a moment, before he remembered he was in a rush. “We’re going to The Marsh Harrier.”  
“Oh, right,” Robbie looked contemplative, but then James dropped a stack of papers on his desk, and began talking to him about the DCs, and when he was done, he said, “Thanks for doing that, sir. Goodnight,” and scarpered before Robbie could get in another word about his date that wasn’t.

James let Robbie think it was a date because he was in too much of a rush to argue otherwise. _It wasn’t a date_ , he told himself. Richard…well, was Richard even gay? And if he was, why would he want to be dating James? No, it was just two friends, meeting for a drink.

He brushed at his shirt anxiously as he locked his car and headed into the pub. He was pretty much bang on time; Robbie having sorted the stuff for the DCs had meant he could get away on time and he’d flown through his shower and shave at his flat, feeling like a stupid, self-conscious adolescent. His hands had trembled as he did his buttons up on his shirt, and he’d stopped, and scolded himself.  
“It’s just a drink and some food between friends, James,” he’d said sternly. “Get a grip on yourself. Why are you being all nervous and silly?”

He ducked gladly into the warmth of the pub, and spotted Richard already there, at a table by the fire. Richard kept glancing over at the door, and as he did so, he caught James’ eye, and gave a little smile, clearly relieved – and pleased. He raised his hand in a wave, and James, spying the drink he was nursing, motioned that he was just going to the bar to get a drink. Dutch courage.  
He snagged some food menus on his way over to the table with his beer, and greeted Richard with a shy smile. “Good evening.”  
Richard shuffled up to make sure James had enough space to sit by the fire, and smiled at him, as James eagerly warmed his hands by the crackling flames.  
“How are you?”  
“Yeah, not too bad,” James responded, rubbing his hands together. “Case is all wrapped up, got all my paperwork done. How about you? How’s the caseload?”  
“As heavy as usual,” Richard responded. “It always is.” He shrugged, and watched James sip his pint and shed his coat. “They say it might snow later.”  
“I hope so. I love snow.” He smiled a little. “Were you waiting long?” he asked. “I actually got away from work on time today, I was impressed I managed it. Thought I was going to end up late.”  
“No, not long,” Richard said, taking a drink, licking his lips nervously. James was watching him with those bright blue eyes, and it was doing funny things to his insides. “I got here a bit early. Thought I’d try and get a good seat by the fire,” he said with a smile.  
James slid a menu over to Richard and briefly perused his own, though he knew the menu well and it was just a cursory look to confirm his order of steak and kidney pie. Richard looked up at James after a few moments studying his, and smiled. “Shall I go and order while you…” He glanced outside.  
James shook his head. “Too cold. Didn’t bring ‘em. And I didn’t want to be antisocial.” His cheeks coloured slightly.  
Richard went up and ordered their food, and then returned with cutlery wrapped in napkins. James sipped his drink – he was only allowed one, having driven, and so he wanted to make it last.

“So,” he said, as Richard settled again. “Tell me something about you. Two blokes having dinner in a pub, yet I don’t know anything about you.”  
“Or I you,” Richard responded, but didn’t seem to mind. “Well, there’s not much to tell, really.”  
“Whereabouts in Oxford do you live?”  
Richard told him the street, and James nodded solemnly and told him he thought he’d arrested someone on that road once, then quirked a smile, and made a joke about his own flat being in a much quieter part of town that he’d never had to nick anyone in.  
Conversation flowed easily, as they gradually began to build an idea of each other’s lives; until, that is, Richard asked James if he lived with anyone.  
Richard knew at once James was uncomfortable with the topic. He shook his head, stiffening. “No, just me,” he responded. “Sometimes my boss, if he comes over for a beer after a hard case and has one too many to drive.”  
Richard studied him as he spoke. His eyes had tightened slightly, and his hand was clenching his glass that bit more tightly, his knuckles whitening.  
“Well,” he said brightly. “I can identify with that. It’s just me, as well. Well, unless you count Tabitha.”  
James looked at Richard quickly, his expression unreadable. “Tabitha?”  
Richard couldn’t help the small smile playing on his lips as he replied. “My cat.”  
James let out a breathy, nervous laugh, and the awkwardness was broken.

The food arrived at that point, effectively stopping all further conversation beyond comments on their meals until they had both eaten. As Robbie had been in work, James had taken his requisite breaks and duly eaten his lunch, so he wasn’t as famished as he had been the night he’d first met Richard in the pub. All the feverish work to try and get his paperwork done had made him hungry, though, and he scarfed his pie down all the same.

They chatted happily for the rest of the night, discussing respective cars, the musical instruments they played (Richard was a Grade 8 in piano and flute, and dabbled in drums), and their opinions on football (James didn’t care for it, Richard was a staunch supporter of Oxford United). They held a lively debate on the best way to make and take tea (James was a water before milk man, Richard a milk-first man, with James taking sugar and Richard not). When it was time to leave, James looked shy.

Richard had noticed James casting him the odd funny glance throughout the night – sort of shy, like he wanted to say something, but daren’t. Richard didn’t ask him; he didn’t like to press the issue. He’d seen how uncomfortable James had become earlier, and didn’t want to push him. He just offered him a smile, instead. “Scheduling interruptions notwithstanding, it would be nice to see you again,” he said gently. “If you’re amenable?”


	3. Down By The River

They met again the following Monday and Thursday; a case derailed their meeting the Monday after that, but James made it again on the Thursday evening. They tried out other pubs and restaurants to mix it up and vary their diet.

James was well aware Robbie believed he was dating someone, and frankly, couldn’t be bothered to disabuse him of the notion; the more he protested that he wasn’t, the less Robbie would believe him, so he just let Robbie think what he would. It also helped to clear his path when he wanted to get away from work by a certain time. Robbie had seen the disappointment on his face when he’d had to text and cancel because a case had put the kibosh on things.

James was trying really had not to be too closed up and prickly around Richard. The man was so sweet and kind-hearted, and James really didn’t want to push him away. Richard, for his part, was starting to understand James. Through quiet observation and storing things away for later consideration, he was beginning to realise that James was intensely private, and yet craved love and acceptance, deeply. The man had clearly been hurt badly in the past, perhaps several times, and because of that, he had put up walls, and high ones at that. He never looked more uncomfortable than when they were discussing personal matters, and he never spoke of any family or friends, yet his face lit up when Richard spoke about his own, and he became more animated when discussing his boss.

One Thursday night, James and Richard were sitting in a cosy little pub they had found together. James had met Richard at his office, and they had gone for a stroll around Oxford. Spring was on the way, and though it was still cold, the light was starting to get really beautiful around the city. So they had walked along the river, chatting amiably about their respective days at work, and taken a left turn on a whim, and stumbled across a little pub with fairy lights and Rachmaninov playing in the background, and had decided to stay. The waiter had taken them to a table in a corner, with a squashy sofa and low table, and they were nestled on it, plates of shepherd’s pie on their laps, their bodies pressed against each other from thigh to shoulder. James had seemed shy and uncomfortable to start with, but Richard had lain an arm across the back of the sofa and smiled at him and he’d relaxed a touch, sinking further into the cushions.

“Can I ask you a personal question?” asked Richard, his tone deliberately light and carefully detached. He watched James from the corner of his eye, studying his reaction to the question.  
James’ first instinct was to freeze, to turn him down, to rebuke and avoid. Richard, however, had asked it so casually, that he found it hard to be anxious about what he’d ask. And, he reasoned, by refusing and making a fuss, he’d just be drawing more attention to the issue.  
He worked very hard to keep his face blank, and glanced at Richard. “Go on, then.” Richard could read wariness in his eyes, and wondered.  
“You’ve not mentioned any family at any point,” he said lightly, fluttering his fingertips across the top of the sofa. “I just wondered…do you not have any family? Or do you just not talk about them?”  
James’ eyes tightened, and his hand clenched around his pint glass. The other hand which was resting on his thigh, quite close to Richard, began to tremble a little bit. He swallowed. “Erm, no. No, no family. My mother…died, when I was three. I was an only child. I hated my father until he died when I was fourteen and at boarding school. It’s been just me since then.”  
Richard’s heart broke a little. The poor thing, all alone in the world at fourteen, and all alone ever since. It must be so hard. He didn’t let on, though. “Ah, I’m – I’m sorry.”  
“It’s not your fault,” said James stoically. “I don’t remember my mother, and I didn’t like my father, so I can’t say I was sorry when he died.” He turned his head to look at Richard. “What about you? I know you’ve mentioned your family but are they still…?”  
Richard, halfway through taking a drink, swallowed hurriedly. “Oh, my parents live near York,” he said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “I go up and see them now and again but what with work and everything, not as often as I’d like. And I have a sister in Edinburgh and a brother in London. Both older.”  
Richard’s eyes had taken on that slightly dreamy look he got when he spoke of his family, and James could tell he loved them. He felt jealousy churn in his chest, and stamped it out quickly. You can’t miss what you’ve never had…  
“Sounds nice,” he said, offhandedly. Richard smiled.  
“I’d like to see them a bit more, but, yes.”

There were a few missed weeks; Richard had to testify at a court case one week, and was so exhausted afterwards that he just wanted to go home. James could identify with this, and wished him a good night’s sleep. One week, James had to miss both their days, after a suspect clocked him round the head with a cricket bat and he wound up in hospital for a few days with a concussion (they would have let him home earlier, but he interrupted a visit from the consultant by vomiting violently all over his shoes, and was detained for a few more days, until he could keep food down). Then Easter came, and Richard had booked a trip home to see his parents. James was working, anyway, working all hours on a case that was proving frustratingly difficult to crack. Robbie had been supposed to be going to Lyn’s for Easter, and had to cancel when another body turned up late on Thursday afternoon.

When Richard returned after Easter and James managed to have time to see him, on the Thursday following Easter, he was unhappy with the James that arrived in the pub. He looked thinner, and tired, like he’d not eaten properly, not slept for a few days.  
“Are you alright?”  
“Yeah, yeah, just…been non-stop cases at the moment.” He rubbed a hand over his face and through his hair, making it stick up haphazardly. It was longer than he usually wore it. He hadn’t had time to get it cut. “I don’t know what it is about public holidays, but it seems to bring out the murderous side of people. Oxonians, anyway.” He grimaced. “Do you mind if we order right away? I’m starving.”  
Richard was, at least, heartened to see him gobble down a large serving of fish and chips, plus garlic bread and onion rings. James, too, seemed to settle following the meal. He caught Richard looking at him, and laughed.  
“Sorry. It’s been a mad few days and mostly I’ve been subsisting on horrible corner shop sandwiches and cigarettes.” Richard, who had eaten his burger at a more sedate pace, smiled.  
“I’m glad you have chance to eat now.” He frowned. “When did you last go home, James?”  
James sighed. “Is it that obvious?” He smoothed his shirt, calculated what day it was. “Monday night, to get some changes of clothes. There’s just not been time since. I’ve been kipping in the oncall room.”  
“But you’re going home tonight, right?”  
James laughed. “Yeah. I was frogmarched out of the station by my Superintendent, and told not to return til Monday morning. We finally cracked the case and been taken off rotation and I haven’t had a day off for about three weeks.”  
Richard stared at him. “Bloody hell, why aren’t you in bed?”  
“Well, I’ve not seen you since before Easter. I’ve missed enough as it is.” His hand went subconsciously to the healing scar in his scalp. “How were your family? Did you have a nice time seeing them?”  
Richard was sufficiently distracted by telling James about his father’s new hearing aid and the meals his mother cooked, and how nice it was to see his sister, who he rarely saw nowadays due to the distance and hectic work schedules. James liked to see how affectionately Richard spoke of his family, liked how happy it made him to be with them.

James was, indeed, substantially more refreshed when he arrived at work the following Monday. He had spent his days off sleeping, cooking and eating fresh meals, which he had been missing during his ridiculous work-induced diet of processed food. He’d also indulged in some reading and some guitar practice, though he was paying the price now for his failure to play more regularly – he’d played til his fingers bled, and they were raw and sore this morning.  
Robbie, too, looked better for the time off. He’d used his days to go and see Lyn and her family to make up for the missed Easter, and it had done him good.  
Innocent didn’t miss that both of them looked better for having had some days off, and vowed to herself that she would not be so remiss in forcing them in future. Other officers on leave and the bank holidays had somewhat removed any alternative she had, but they had suffered for it – James particularly.

When James left work at the end of the day, he was surprised to find Richard’s car parked next to his own in the car park.   
They had not made plans for that night as yet – James had vaguely been planning to text Richard to let him know which pub he was in. But Richard was waiting for him, and as James approached, somewhat uncertainly, he got out of the car.  
“Hey,” he said softly, raising a hand in greeting. James returned it with a small, hesitant smile.  
“To what do I owe this pleasure?” he asked, his voice betraying his nerves.  
Richard smiled. James looked positively petrified. “Don’t look so worried!” he said. “I just thought it would be nice to surprise you. It’s a nice evening. I brought a picnic. I thought we could go and sit by the river.”  
James was stunned. Richard had planned this just to surprise him? People didn’t do stuff like this for him. What had he done to deserve this?  
Richard was still smiling at him, and James was rooted to the spot. His brain was scrambling around, trying to make sense of what was going on. People didn’t do nice things for him, as a rule. 

While James was still trying to process what was happening, Richard opened the boot of his car and took out a cool bag, which he slung on his back. He flashed another smile at James. “Shall we?”  
They strolled off through Oxford, and Richard steered them down towards the river. The sun was just starting to sink towards the horizon, casting everything with a lovely golden glow, and Richard guided them to a bench down by a quiet section of river, where the water was flowing lazily by, making gentle lapping noises as it ran against the banks.

Richard had packed a lovely picnic, all homemade food stacked up in paper bags, and two bottles of beer, one alcoholic, one not, to wash it down with.

Richard was more nervous than he was letting on, and could barely take his eyes off James, who looked positively radiant with his blonde hair all lit up by the setting sun. He kept saying “Wow,” and “This is amazing, Richard,” and looking shy, and it was really rather endearing.

“I have to say, it’s nice to see you look a little more well-rested,” Richard said once he had eaten his fill and was contentedly drinking his beer. “You have a good weekend?”  
“Yeah, I did,” James replied, sounding more relaxed than he had done yet. “It was really nice, actually. Just sleeping and cooking and catching up with myself a bit. I don’t think I realised how tired I’d been until I stopped.”  
Richard caught James’ wrist and turned his hand over to look. “Your fingers…?” he said, sounding concerned. They were still sore-looking and red, despite the day’s rest. He ran the tips of his own fingers over them, and felt the angrily heated flesh.  
James huffed a laugh. “I hadn’t played the guitar for too long, and that’s the price you pay for negligence,” he smiled.  
“You play the guitar?”  
“Oh yeah,” he enthused. “I play in a band – sometimes. It’s not really an official thing, but I enjoy it.”  
Richard asked what kind of music they played, because he loved the look James had got on his face, loved the way his eyes seemed to sparkle and dance as he talked about something which he clearly loved.  
He suddenly realised he still had James’ hand in his grasp, turned in his direction. James made no move to pull it back, and continued talking animatedly. It was only when he turned his hand in Richard’s grasp to demonstrate how holding the strings could cut at the fingers, that Richard released it, trying to make it seem natural.

Richard found himself not really wanting to say goodbye to James that evening – though he had to, of course. After the beer and the good food, James had relaxed a little, and Richard had discovered that making James laugh was one of his favourite hobbies. He liked how those stormy blue eyes would crinkle and fill with warmth, his cheeks would lift and, if he was particularly tickled and feeling particularly at ease, he would throw his head back and laugh. But Richard liked even the small laughs, the giggles, the chuckles, when his eyes would dance with light and his lips would curve upwards and his shoulders would jiggle. Hell, Richard liked the smiles too. Loved to watch the happy twist of James’ mouth, the blush that would blossom on his cheeks when an unexpected compliment was bestowed upon him. The way he would duck his head shyly, and glow.

Yes, Richard loved all these things, and as they came to their point of separation, and he ruminated on just how screwed he was, he decided to be a little bold. Instead of a brief pat on the back that they usually exchanged in goodbye (they had gradually graduated from stilted nods and vague waves) he leaned forward and drew James to him in a short, one armed hug.  
He felt James momentarily still in surprise, but only for a split-second; James’ arm then came up to his own back.  
Richard wanted to cheer, to dance, to rejoice. He had half-expected James to completely freeze, to react badly. James frequently seemed troubled by invasions of privacy, whether physical or just in conversation. But it seemed like James trusted him enough to be okay with it. A small voice at the back of Richard’s head wondered if maybe James even wanted it too. Richard stamped on the voice. He knew that was far too much to ever hope for, and he liked James far too much to want to ruin it by doing something stupid like let himself hope.

James had never mentioned past relationships, male or female, and Richard suspected trauma in his past. The way he held himself, the way he spoke, the way he spoke about his family…Richard couldn’t help but think James didn’t think himself quite deserving of love. 

James, refreshed from his days off and touched by the surprise picnic Richard had greeted him with, found himself feeling more relaxed and comfortable than he had in a long while. Richard had been on top form that evening, and James had laughed more than he had in a long time.   
He had caught a few looks from Richard which somehow suffused him with warmth. Richard seemed almost to be trying to make him laugh, and a few times as James burst into laughter, unable to stop himself, he saw Richard’s eyes light up, saw him beam a smile of his own, his face all soft and delighted. He didn’t know what it was or why, but it did something warm and squiggly to his insides when Richard looked at him like that, and he might have let himself laugh and smile more easily that evening, just to make him keep doing it.  
He was surprised to find he really didn’t want the evening to end, but it was getting late, and he had taken up far too much of Richard’s time already. He told him this, ducking his head apologetically. He missed Richard’s frown at this statement.  
They headed back towards the police station and their cars, and as they bade each other goodnight and made to separate, he smiled ruefully to himself and raised his hand for their usual goodbye pats on the back, but suddenly found himself being pressed against Richard, who had put an arm around him and was – yes, there was no other word for it – hugging him.  
A million thoughts crashed through his head all at once. Panic, fear, surprise, pleasure, longing: James experienced all of these in a split-second, and everything in between. But this was Richard, he reminded himself. Your friend. Just take whatever he’ll give you.  
So he let his arm come up to hug Richard back, surprising both Richard and himself.

It was nice. 

He had expected a hug between two male friends to feel awkward, uncomfortable, but this was…nice. It was warm. It was easy. Part of James didn’t want it to end, whilst the other was reminding himself not to outstay his welcome; it could so easily get awkward if James, unpracticed as he was at having friends with which he was in hugging territory, held on too long.

They broke apart at the same time, each taking a step back. “Thanks for the lovely evening,” James blurted. Richard smiled, all warmth and contentedness, and his cheeks pinked.  
“I’m glad you enjoyed it,” he replied. “Have a good night, James.” And he turned and headed off to his own car. James watched him until he reached his driver’s door, then hastily turned to get in his own.

**Author's Note:**

> Oh man I've been working on this fic forEVER and I've always felt quite protective of it, it's definitely one of my fic babies. It's still only a WIP so I don't have an ending yet (though I have ideas) but lockdown has me rediscovering old loves and old projects, and I thought, well it might as well be out there for someone to read as sitting on my hard drive never seeing the light of day. So, I guess we'll see where it goes, eh?
> 
> The title and inspiration for this fic is taken from the excellent Poets of the Fall song, [All The Way 4/U](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zBKwNrhL_uI).


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